“How can I be happy, Grace? You were all my happiness. I can’t help it; all these days I’ve fought against it, I’ve done all I could, but still even now—now that I know you’ve never cared for me at all, and the rest—I love you with all my heart.”
The tears ran down her wasted, colourless cheeks, and for awhile she could not speak. She withdrew her hand, and stood in front of him with head bent down.
“I don’t ask you to believe me, Paul. I’ve lied to you and betrayed you, and you have the right to take my words as worthless. But I should like to tell you this before I go: I do love you now honestly. During these last months of wretchedness I’ve understood how kind and good you were, and I’ve been awfully touched by your great love for me; you made me utterly ashamed of myself. Oh, I’ve been worthless and selfish; I’ve sacrificed you blindly to all my whims, I’ve never tried to make you happy; but if I’m less of a cad than I was, it’s because of you. And the other day, when you gave that man his gun, I was so proud of you, and I felt such a poor mean creature I could have fallen on my knees before you and kissed your hands.”
She took her handkerchief and dried her eyes; then, forcing a smile, for one moment she flashed at him a gay look such as she had been accustomed to give.
“Don’t think too badly of me, will you?”
“Oh, Grace, Grace,” he cried, “I can’t bear it! Don’t go. I want you so badly. Let us try again.”
The colour rushed to her face, and she went to him quickly.
“Paul, d’you think you ever can forgive me? I tell you I love you as I never loved you before.”
“Let us try.”
He opened his arms, and with a cry of joy she flung herself into them; she lifted her lips to him, and when he kissed her she pressed more closely to him.